


Als Die Sterne Sangen

by ActuallyJason (Iggy_McBabyface)



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Alien Biology, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Alien Invasion, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, M/M, Swearing, Violence, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:48:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26900902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iggy_McBabyface/pseuds/ActuallyJason
Summary: In a world of war three very different people are fighting three different battles. One is working to put together the puzzle of his past, one wants nothing more than to find his purpose in life and the last, well, he's just trying to not get brutally murdered. Alone it's difficult to achieve their goals, but maybe together they stand a chance. If only there wasn't a superpowered maniac set on destroying them.(Als die Sterne sangen: when the stars sang)
Relationships: Alex Kralie/Brian Thomas | Hoody, Alex Kralie/Brian Thomas | Hoody/Timothy "Tim" Wright | Masky, Alex Kralie/Timothy "Tim" Wright | Masky, Brian/Timothy "Tim" W.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 3





	Als Die Sterne Sangen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StinkKat001](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StinkKat001/gifts).



> I know I know. I haven't finished Sunflowers yet. Don't worry. I will. The next chapter of that is on its way.
> 
> Now about this fic: I was talking with Kat and we decided to go another exchange and their prompt... it just caught my imagination... hard. Like all the world building I can do in this! All the action and drama! I just couldn't resist making this into a multi chapter. Hope you like it my pal! :)  
> Just as a little aside: Tim in this fic is an alien so I gave him (and Masky) a kinda alien sounding name only to then realize that while in German the pronounciation of those names is pretty clear and in English... well... it might not be. So here's how you pronounce them: Timarrhje: Tim-are-hee-ye (that last e pronounced like in yes), Maskiria: Mas-kee-ree-ah. If there's any more alien characters (and knowing me there most definitely will be) I'mma put the pronounciations of their names in the notes as well :)

Waking up is painful. His mind is struggling to gain awareness, everything else within him protesting. It's like wading through a sea of tar, inky black fingers grabbing, tugging at him, their talons digging into his sore limbs. His eyes feel sticky and there is a throbbing pain behind his temples. With a jerk his lids fly open, his whole body convulsing and doubling over. He gags, hot bile rising up his throat and spilling out his mouth. Intermittent to his puking agonized sobs fall from his chapped lips.

Finally his stomach stops rebelling. He doesn't know how long he lies there, arms clutched around his middle, blankly staring at the dusty floor in front of him. Slowly the stabbing in his gut subsides. His gaze, still a little blurry with tears, focusses on his surroundings.

He's in what looks to once have been a white room. The tiles of the floor are cracked and some are completely gone. Only three of the crumbling walls are still standing, partially. Everything is covered in soot and debris. Thick smoke is in the air, making breathing hard, a pile of wood and cloth nearby, that looks like it could have been a bed, still burning.

With trembling arms he pushes himself up and gets to his shaky legs. Walking hurts, oh god it hurts, debris digging into his unprotected feet, but he knows, deep in his gut, that staying is a dangerously bad idea. Whatever happened here, he has a feeling it has something to do with him. Flashes of the past, of pain and anger, grab a hold of his mind. His hand flies to his throbbing skull, shuddering breaths gasping from his lungs. A man, half of his face hidden behind a clinical mask, steel blue eyes cold and emotionless. Pressure behind his eyes. Agony. Anger.

Suddenly he hears a shout, which tears him from his memories, then the sound of people coming closer. He desperately tries to go faster, only managing to stumble and fall, hard. Sharp rocks and pieces of ripped apart metal cut into his palms, arms and knees, drawing an agonized shout from him. As he's fighting to regain his composure, a shadow falls over him.

It's a tall man. Or at least he thinks it might be a man. He's not so sure, since he doesn't look like any man he's ever seen before. He's wearing a pair of jeans and a dark t-shirt. What's visible of his gangly arms is covered in reddish brown, burnt looking skin. His shaggy hair is a muddy brown, though judging by how much grime is stuck in it, knotty strands of hair standing in all directions, it could also be an ashy blonde. A bent pair of glasses is perched on his crooked nose and a scar splits his leathery face in half, starting in the middle of his forehead, running between his eyes, over the left side of his nose, splitting the thin, dark brown lips and ending just above the jaw line. The man's hazel eyes carefully inspect him, then a small smile lifts the corners of his mouth.

"I'm Seth." the man's voice is rough, as though it hurts him to speak, "We are the Mutant Liberation Army. We free those the Government has experimented on, such as yoursel-" A coughing fit overcomes Seth, the man doubling over and gagging. A woman he hadn't seen before rushes over and pats his back, whispering something into his ear.

Her raven black hair is pulled up into a messy bun, the strands held together by a dirty piece of cloth. Her skin is of a light grey colour, small white veins running through it. There are a few cracks along her neck, as though she's made of rock, and one of her ears is missing. Due to her being shorter than Seth she barely has to bend down to support the gasping man, who is standing on wobbly knees, hands on his thighs to keep from falling over.

Soon Seth manages to calm his breathing and regain his posture. "As I was saying," he croaks out, his voice even raspier than before, "We're here to free you. Will you join us in our quest to help as many mutants as possible and end the government's experiments on innocent people?" The look on Seth's face is stoic, but he can see hope glimmering behind the other man's eyes. The ask is… it's a lot. The experiments hurt, yes, but he signed up for the program. He knew what he was going into, knew that evolution means agony. But… what if there are people who didn't join willingly? He'll have to investigate. Then there’s also that strange feeling at the back of his mind, like an ominous dark cloud. Something happened. Something bad. And he’ll do whatever it takes to find out what it is. He nods his assent.

Seth and the woman beam. "Welcome to the team then. I'm Sarah by the way. And you are?" the ravenette speaks up, voice sounding like two boulders scraping together.

He furrows his brows. He remembers the name he had before. It's no longer who he is anymore, however. His gaze falls onto the number etched into his forearm. The number he was given after he agreed to be a part of Program Starfire. "BR149."

*+*+*+*

Cleaning duty. Why is it always cleaning duty? Why can't that stupid Commander Merrick realize that Alex is capable of so much more than just… cleaning toilets and mopping floors? With an annoyed grunt Alex throws the cleaning cloth into the bucket. Water splashes onto his arm and the floor, causing him to deflate. He really hates cleaning duty. And he really hates Merrick, that self righteous prick.

Alex knows he’s one of the best recruits on base. He should be out there, fighting for humanity, not scraping crusts of… whatever that brown stuff is… off steel kitchen surfaces. Ever since he was a kid he dreamed of joining the military and fighting off their alien invaders. Of becoming a hero. This. Is not what he had in mind.

Even more frustrated than before Alex dries the cupboard he cleaned and gets up, grabbing the bucket along the way. He's about to throw the water out, when the cantina door opens and a relatively new recruit, Jessica Locke as far as he remembers, comes in and calls his name. Like all military personnel her face is devoid of make up. Little freckles are peppered across her high cheekbones and a little scar runs along her pointy chin. There's a certain warmth in her caramel brown eyes and a healthy glow to her tanned skin. "Kralie? Are you here? Commander Merrick wants to talk to you. Now!" Jessica smiles at him pityingly.

That's another thing Alex hates about Merrick. He orders him to his office at least once a day to chew him out over made up infractions. With an annoyed sigh he gives the bucket to Jessica. The woman, knowing he'd be in even more trouble if he took too much time, nods and goes to continue where he left off.

Alex hurries through the sterile looking halls, past silver doors with black numbers in their top right corner. At the entrance with the number 133 he stops and presses the yellow button next to it. Doing so will alert Merrick, whose office is inside, to his presence.

After a few seconds the door slides open soundlessly to give view to a spacious, brightly lit room. Merrick has thirty nine books on the shelves on the right wall, more than anyone else he knows could afford in their lifetime. Alex has counted them many times whenever Merrick went off on one of his tirades. Speaking of, the man himself sits at a standard issued bullet proof flexiglass desk, a safety precaution a few of the more unbearable higher ups tend to ignore so they can show off their ridiculously expensive ancient wooden tables. An impatient scowl curls Merrick's surprisingly pink, cleft upper lip. His big, mud brown bug eyes are heavily shadowed by bags and his soft face is paler than the last time Alex saw him. Like a scarecrow's his unkempt, mouse brown hair surrounds his head. His thin, bony fingers agitatedly drum on the silvery surface of the desk, each tap leaving a bronce mark that ripples out and vanishes within a few seconds.

"Sit." Merrick snarls as soon as Alex enters his office. He struggles to keep his face neutral as he follows the order, the door noiselessly gliding closed behind him, like cell doors snapping shut. For a long while they stare at each other, agitation visibly growing on Merrick's face. Then, suddenly, the man seems to fall in on himself, resignation overtaking his features. "Recruit Kralie." it comes out as more of a sigh than anything else, "I… want to apologize. It has come to my notice that I let my… feelings… influence my work. You have one of the highest scores in training and should be out there… _fighting_." he spits out that last word as though it disgusts him. A rush of happiness floods Alex's system, the corners of his lips twitching up. Finally he'll be able to show what he's made of. And if he's able to kick some alien butt along the way, well, he's not complaining.  
The frown is back on Merrick's face. The commander agitatedly runs his fingers through his hair, messing it up even more. "I hope you're happy now, Kralie. Don't come running back to me, crying, once you realize what a shit show this whole war is. Be in the hangar tomorrow at 0700. Dismissed." Merrick pulls a stack of papers from his desk and starts reading.

Alex's brows climb up his forehead, but he doesn't dare ask. Instead he takes the obvious dismissal and hurries to his sleeping quarters to pack before Merrick has the chance to change his mind. This is his chance to finally get out of the base and nobody is going to take it from him.

*+*+*+*

The feel of plasma is heavy in the air, currents of electricity unpleasantly tingling along Timarrhje's arms. There's too much dust in the air for him to properly see his surroundings. His ears twitching in distress he presses his back against the cool, rough surface of the rock wall he's hiding behind. The body suit he's wearing is torn, burnt amber skin peeking through ripped brown metal cloth. The humans, he knows, are closing in on his position. If they find him he's dead. Just like the rest of his group.

"Maskiria." he whispers to his other half, "I need help. Please." His mind brother sighs. _I know. I'm working on it. Just… give me time._ Small, silvery droplets start gathering in Timarrhje's eyes. He should have listened to his father. It's a bad idea for an omega, such as himself, to fight on the front lines. No matter how much training he goes through, he'll never be as strong as his alpha counterparts. It’s a dumb child’s dream to become a hero to his people. To save their race from extinction. _Stop thinking stupid things._ Maskiria suddenly interrupts his train of thought, _Those oh so amazing alphas are dead. We're still alive, so we've already won in that aspect._

Timarrhje nods. His other half is right. They are still breathing. They still have a chance. A wave of determination floods his system. He wipes the tears from his face and, once again, takes in his surroundings. There has to be something, anything. A weapon. A way out. Just. Something. Before him is an open expanse, blackened, cracked earth, rocks and dead shrubbery the only things in sight. To his right he can see what is left of a wall, crumbling bricks strewn about around it. As he turns to observe his left something catches his eye. Something that causes his innards to rumble uncomfortably. Tattered cloth loosely wrapped around leathery skin. The wind tugging on thin wisps of hair that barely cover a cracked open skull. Empty holes where eyes and nose used to be, the few teeth remaining in the mouth loose and close to falling. A body. Human, by the looks of it. _The perfect hiding place._ Maskiria chimes in. That's what Timarrhje was thinking as well. If he's careful to not disturb the layer of dust and dirt that covers the floor there's a chance the humans won't touch the body.

Mind made up he takes another look around before carefully creeping over to his find. The old, weathered bones are brittle, so he has to handle them gently as he moves them to the side to dig a shallow hole. It's more difficult than he expected, the packed earth is hard from months without rain. Slowly, much too slowly, he scrapes the dirt away, glad that he's wearing protective gloves or the little stones might have ended up scratching up the soft skin of his fingers. Every little noise makes him jump, his hearts beating much too fast in his ribcage. Sweat starts beading on his forehead.

When the hole is finally big enough his hands are shaking and voices can be heard not too far away. Timarrhje lies down in the hole and pulls the skeletal body over his own. He really hopes his skin and suit blend in with the earth enough that he won't be seen. The crunching sounds of steps come closer and he freezes, not even daring to breathe.

An angry voice starts talking and, as the speaker nears his position his translating tool is able to pick up their words: “-stupid cunt has to be around here somewhere. Never seen one of them little shits just disappear before.” There’s the noise of spitting and more shuffling of feet. “Maybe the freak offed itself? Wouldn’t be the first time.” a second person pipes up and lets out a dirty laugh, “Remember that bitch that used its own stupid suit to strangle itself? What a sight to see.”

The first soldier answers with a dismissive grunt. “If it killed itself we’d have found a body.” They come closer. Black spots start dancing in front of Timarrhje’s eyes, his lungs screaming for air. To keep from passing out he starts to breathe as shallowly and noiselessly as possible. It doesn’t help much. His hearts pump loudly, too loudly. What if the man standing mere feet from him can hear it? It takes all of his willpower to not start crying again.

After what feels like ages a sigh can be heard. “I guess the bitch isn’t here. Maybe it ran north?” The soldiers start walking off.

Timarrhje doesn’t know how long he waits after they are gone. By the time he finally dares moving again his limbs have become stiff, his limbs painfully tingling as he lifts the bones off himself and crawls out of the hole. North. The enemy went north. Still remembering which way he heard their steps retreating, he decides to go in the opposite direction, which should be south. According to the maps he studied at home base an ancient, derelict city should be about twenty miles from here. Maybe he’ll find a better hiding place there. “Let’s do this.” he balls his fists, determined. _Yes. Let’s do this._


End file.
